


attend me

by voidslantern



Category: Captive Prince - C. S. Pacat
Genre: Alternate Universe - Regency, Can You Spot The Easter Eggs?, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, M/M, Tailor AU, Wet Dream
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-24
Updated: 2019-12-24
Packaged: 2021-02-18 07:42:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,408
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21940618
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/voidslantern/pseuds/voidslantern
Summary: Damen is in the back of the shop, sketching merrily away a new suit design he’s seen so vividly in his mind’s eye during the small hours of the night, when Erasmus comes crashing into his small office, eyes aflame and wild.“He wants you, sir.”
Relationships: Damen/Laurent (Captive Prince), Erasmus/Torveld (Captive Prince)
Comments: 22
Kudos: 217
Collections: Captive Prince Reverse Bang 2019





	attend me

**Author's Note:**

> Here is my entry for CaPri Reverse Big Bang! I've collabed with lovely @Spades and wrote a story for their Tailor AU idea and art. Also special thanks to @laurentknows for beta'ing this fic!  
> You can view @Spades' art [[here]](https://twitter.com/mofspades/status/1209559761592705024).  
> Please enjoy!

Damen is in the back of the shop, sketching merrily away a new suit design he’s seen so vividly in his mind’s eye during the small hours of the night, when Erasmus comes crashing into his small office, eyes aflame and wild.

“He wants you, sir.”

Damen puts down his pencil and frowns at his apprentice’s dishevelled state. “What’s going on?

Erasmus runs his hand through his fine hair, messing up the usually neat golden locks further. “I’m not good enough, sir. He demands you serve him.”

Damen glances behind Erasmus at the door that leads to the main room of his tailor shop. It’s been a quiet day, only a few gentlemen visited to order new ties and vests, and a single lady checked in on her dress. Damen shrugs and gets up, smoothing down his simple black pants as he shoots Erasmus a confident smile.

“Don’t worry. I’ll take care of it.”

The apprentice lets out a whimper. Honest to God, a whimper. Damen’s smile falters a fraction but he compensates by patting the young man’s shoulder encouragingly a few times before he marches out to the storefront.

There, lurking about near the display with fabric samples, stands the most gorgeous man Damen has ever laid his eyes upon. Slender, pale in both his skin and his soft, lightly curling locks, but confident and graceful in each and every movement of his long limbs. Damen nearly trips over a carpet wrinkle when the new customer locks his gaze with his. Brilliant blue eyes framed by pale lashes that are long enough to brush his high cheekbones — beautiful, utterly and completely — if it wasn't for that outright annoyance hidden in the corners of his mouth.

Damen doesn't even notice another customer in the room until he speaks.

"Are you just going to stand there and gape or you'll greet your customers?"

Damen flushes bright red, both in outrage at the younger man's comment and in embarrassment.

"I apologise," Damen says, cursing internally his blushing cheeks as he tries to keep his voice calm and steady. "Welcome, gentlemen, to my humble shop. How may I serve you?"

The other young man, the blond's companion, is short and finely-boned, delicate from the tips of his toes to gentle brown curls on his head. However, this is where the young dandy's pleasantness ends. He eyes Damen and Erasmus like a wild cat stalking its prey. One wrong move, one moment of weakness is all it will take.

"It's  _ lords _ , actually," the dandy corrects. Damen offers a courteous nod — he's no lord, not anymore, at least, but no lordling will ever make him feel lesser. Just out of spite. "This is Lord Laurent of Vere," a point of a delicate, jewel-adorned hand, "and I am his brother, Nicaise."

"Damianos Akielos. How may I serve you, my  _ lords?" _

"I need a suit for a wedding," the gorgeous one, Laurent, finally speaks. Damen shivers at the ice in his voice.

"Congratulatio—"

He cuts him off with a hand raised dismissively. "It's my good friend's wedding, not mine."

"Of course. Would your companion be needing a suit, too?" 

Nicaise snickers, eyeing the shop, "It takes a special kind of man to wear your apparel, Mr Akielos, and I am afraid I am not one of them." 

Damen is fairly sure this is an insult but deems it unnecessary to bother with. He's still painfully aware of Erasmus emanating outrage behind his back. Thankfully, his apprentice has good enough grip on his emotions in front of customers. Damen… is trying. This is his business and livelihood, after all, and he must present it the best way possible. Being rude to a rich customer is a luxury he sadly cannot afford, so now Damen only smiles politely and invites Lord Laurent to select his fabrics.

"I already have," he says.

"Very well." Silence. "Could you please show me—?"

Lord Laurent does, and while Damen has no objections to his choice, he pales when he realises that the beautiful cobalt blue fabric the lord selected is quite very limited in his stock, given that he used most of it on making a set of five matching lady's bonnets. It was for sisters or something, he didn't quite catch the gist of it in all the chatting the mother of the sisters subjected him to.

"My lord, when is the wedding, if I may ask?"

"In a month," Lord Laurent replies, fiddling boredly with the fabric samples, "but you must have my suit ready in two weeks."

"What?!" Damen chokes then blushes when cold, icy eyes scorch him. "I apologise. Making of a bespoke suit usually takes longer than that, not to mention that my other customers—"

"You don't need to worry about your other customers, Mr Akielos. You will be paid accordingly to your troubles."

Damen doesn't like his tone. Not for one second. However handsome the young lord is, he seems like a total bitch. A rich bitch, at that. Damen can't help but brace himself before he brings up the issue with fabric.

Lord Laurent doesn't like that one bit and for the outfit that he wants, it will simply not be enough material to work with. Damen is distressed enough he regrets ever climbing out of his bed today. At that moment, Lord Laurent finds one of the cerulean blue flower pattern fabrics and Damen still notices the much fonder stroke of the long, slender fingers over the material.

So, he dares. "May I suggest using this fabric for the waistcoat, my lord? It would accent your eyes."

"My eyes are fine without getting accented."

"I can see that."  _ What an asshole.  _ "However, if you agree to use this cerulean fabric, it will be enough for me to make your outfit on time,  _ without _ having to bother with ordering more materials. Which, as you know, can take up the better part of the month to receive."

Lord Laurent turns to face Damen fully, and it almost feels like he's standing naked in front of the lord, so hard and piercing his heavy glare is.

"I will agree to this, Mr Akielos, only on the assumption that you will not delay with making the outfit for me. I do not like waiting, nor do I particularly care for any troubles on your end. Call on me when you need to do fittings, but pray to work hard. I won't have any delays, sir."

Damen opens his mouth, then closes, then opens it again. "In this case, the pay, my lord, is better to be without delays, as well. I'll charge you a half upfront. The rest on the day of the receiving."

He doesn't care he growls. He doesn't care for Erasmus' warning signals. All he can do is to stare down at the pretty face of the man he's both weirdly attracted to and hates at the same time, and wonder about how he wants to know how it feels like to be kissing someone like him.

Lord Laurent's full, beautiful lips curl into a smirk of a man enjoying his game. "Perhaps you should warn your other customers about how busy you're going to be."

_ Perhaps you don't own my shop to tell me how to run it. _

"Well then," Damen claps his hands. "Would you please follow me into the fitting room, my lord?"

Laurent regards Damen with a chilly gaze but nods, curtly. Nicaise, who's been stalking about somewhere in the store, now luxuriates on the coach and eyes Erasmus with a sneer on his face. Damen hates it, but he has to quickly ask the apprentice to keep an eye on him while Damen is gone in the back with Lord Laurent. He earns an amused snort from his new patron, but he leaves it at that.

The fitting room isn't particularly large but it is still enough to host three tall looking glasses. Damen asks Lord Laurent as casually as he can to strip down to his shirt and pants so that he can take his measurements. Ideally, Damen would have Erasmus writing down the numbers, but Lord Ice-Cold-Asshole is too difficult for a customer to bring in the soft and docile Erasmus into one room with him.

Damen takes his measuring tape and steps into the lord's orbit. He looked slender to him at first, but now that he's out of some of his layers and Damen has to put his hands on him, he feels well-toned muscles shifting beneath the white shirt.

They do not speak. Damen only voices the measurements, mostly out of habit, then writes them down on his own. Lord Laurent is only watching his every move, ice-cold eyes never softening.

"Please, stop squirming about," Damen sighs when his customer dearest shifts again on his feet.

"The wood plank is loose."

"This building is over a century old, of course something might be getting loose."

"Can't you fix it? It's right in the middle of the room."

"If you don't squirm, it won't creak. Please stand still."

"My lord."

"Why thank you, though I am not a lord."

Laurent bristles. "You are forgetting your manners."

The measuring tape is too good a tool to wrap up around that slender white neck.

Damen smiles over Lord Laurent's shoulder. "Maybe talking about wood isn't a common topic during the measurement phase.” He slides his hand over the younger man's back and pushes, gently. Lord Laurent nearly goes flying nose-first into the looking glass but manages to catch himself.

Then, he spins around and glares at Damen. Finally, some colour in those cheeks.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing?!"

"Tsk, tsk, tsk. Manners maketh man and all that, but surely, now it's  _ you  _ who forgets to address me properly,  _ my lord." _

"So pushing your customers is a common thing, Mr Akielos?"

"I have merely found your waist. And your centre of gravity."

Lord Laurent looks impossibly younger when he's angry. Damen can't help his lips curling into a smile.

"Now, before you start ranting, my lord, please remember that we're on a tight schedule now. Turn around, please."

Laurent can only grit his teeth and glare when Damen still takes his sweet time wrapping his measuring tape around that narrow waist, though he wishes it was his hands.

* * *

By the time the first fitting comes, Damen has been sleeping some mere five hours a day ever since meeting Laurent. 

He's just Laurent now. He's only a lord when Damen has to call him something obscene.

Regardless, Damen is moody and grim when he gathers his materials, the roughly-stitched garments, and the tools he might need into his portmanteau and carefully closes it, mindful of the precious contents. (His tools, obviously.)

Erasmus has his hands full trying his best to run the shop on his own for the most part, since Damen has to put in all his waking hours into fitting two months worth of work in two weeks. 

"If I don't return by nightfall, do not look for me," Damen says to his apprentice, both standing at the doorstep of the shop. "It means I have murdered the lordling and now am on a run."

Erasmus snorts, then blushes, but then still bursts out into laughter together with Damen. 

"I will make sure to come up with some sort of alibi for you, sir." 

Damen laughs, patting his apprentice — his friend, as he has been thinking of Erasmus for some time now — on the shoulder and with no small amount of dread turning towards the horse waiting for him. After carefully securing his portmanteau, Damen swings into the saddle and spurs the chestnut mare. It's a long ride to the Vere residence but the early morning is fresh after the night's shower and Damen grins, letting the gentle sunlight beat down on his skin.

His good mood, however, doesn't last till midday.

Lord Laurent is an absolute, cold-blooded snake of a person with no regard to working class whatsoever. 

"Do I need to remind you of the importance of this commission, Mr Akielos?"

"This suit must be perfect."

"No, I don't like this stitching style."

"I don't like that one, either."

"The sleeves are too long."

"Too short now."

But the worst, oh God, the worst, is his entitled "attend me". Has Damen, unbecomest to himself, become Lord Laurent's personal slave? Sure as hell it feels like he has, with all the little regard of the usual respect there is between a tailor and his customer. Laurent treats Damen like he is challenged in the head, yet also acts quite impatient when Damen tries to make do with whatever little healthy communication they have going on between them.

When Damen storms out of the ridiculously pompous mansion and truds down to the stables to get his horse, he is cussing and cursing everything Laurent of Vere stands for. There is only one consolation to his trouble, tucked away in a hidden nook of his bedroom and later to be deposited into his bank account. 

That and only that warms his heart on his ride back into the town, where another allnighter of working on Laurent's suit awaits him.

* * *

When the shop's doorbell rings, announcing the dreaded customer's arrival, Damen, to his own surprise, is done with the basting of the commission and only needs to adjust some final details before he can present it before Laurent's scrutinizing eyes.

That same "attend me", the ever-present tease and quip. Damen knows Laurent knows it drives him mad with rage. 

Damen remains silent through most of the fitting, at least through that part where he watches the lord undress to his undershirt to be able to try on the waistcoat. Once they have the patterned cerulean velvet on the young man, Damen can't help but click his tongue as he examines his work on the man's body.

"I regret to inform you, my lord, that you've lost some weight since the last fitting. With the fit you wish, I suggest you return to your previous weight or we'd have to make some readjustments right away."

Laurent glares at him, at his audacity to comment like that, and at his whole family tree that brought Damen into being. 

"What."

Damen sighs then puts his measuring tape around his shoulders and plants his hands firmly on the blond man's waist. 

"Here, the fit is meant to accent your waist and show the broadness of your shoulders, like that." Damen removes his hands, letting the waistcoat return to its natural state. It immediately looks lesser to how it was before, Laurent's form losing that sharp edge he seems to want to achieve. "See? You've lost a lot of weight over the past week."

Laurent frowns. "There were some family matters I had to take care of."

"Yes, naturally."

Damen doesn't particularly want to step away from the Lord of Vere, breathing in his soft, almost sweet scent and admiring his light locks, such a contrast to Damen's dark thick hair and dusky skin. Laurent looks lost in his thoughts for a brief moment, though when he snaps out of it and their gazes meet in the mirror, Damen is stunned by the depth of emotion Laurent's eyes betray swirling in him. He blinks and it is gone, but the connection snapping in place between them doesn't fade that easily.

Damen has to clear his throat before he speaks. "So… would you like me to make the adjustments or..?"

Laurent sighs, brief and curt. "Do it."

Then comes in the tailcoat. Damen had some struggles with it since he had to scrape his usual way of working on a garment — such as creating a master pattern and perfecting it — so now he is a little nervous when Laurent tries it on.

The blond man turns this way and that, admiring the view in the mirror. Damen is busy freaking out over how well cobalt fits him. It brings out the ice in him, sure, but also adds some sheen of royalty Damen hasn’t noticed in Laurent before. He’s an asshole first, after all.

“I like this.”

“Come again?”

“I said I like this,” Laurent repeats, slowly forming each syllable and Damen can’t help but retaliate by lightly prickling him with one of the pins he uses to adjust certain things in the garment. 

“It’s still barely halfway done. You know, if you extended the deadline for at least a week…”

“Out of the question.”

“But why can’t you extend the deadline? You said it yourself that the wedding is only in a month—”

“I repeat, this is out of the question.”

They glare at each for a while until Damen finally gives in and sighs. “It was worth a shot.”

Laurent’s eyes still do not leave his reflection in the mirror. He turns to stand sideways, head cocked a little and golden locks obscuring his expression, but the man sighs almost sadly and Damen, damn his compassion, carefully asks,

“Is everything all right?”

“Why wouldn’t it be?”

“You’re not as snarky as usual.”

“And you’re not as annoying. Should we celebrate this remarkable occurrence by drinking some tea with biscuits?”

“I’d go for wine and dinner—” Damen begins, but the unamused glare Laurent gives him stops him halfway through the sentence. “Fine, I’ll shut up. Lift your hands, please.”

From then on, Laurent allows Damen to do his fittings without much of the usual fuss but it still makes the warning bells go off in Damen’s head.

“Seriously, is everything good?”

“Why are you suddenly so concerned about my well-being?”

“I guess I just miss getting sassed back. You’re the only one who does it so effortlessly around in this town.”

“You’ve lived elsewhere?”

Damen gestures at himself, brows arched in amusement. “I’m obviously not local. Neither is Erasmus.” Laurent frowns. “My apprentice? The young man who lets you into the shop every time?”

“Ah. Nicaise is rather fond of him.”

“Oh is he now? I thought he was incapable of feeling fond.”

Laurent snorts. “He likes to play with people, I give him that.”

They grow silent as Damen continues to work. When he comes to stand face to face with Laurent, he has to avoid looking directly into the young man’s face. He has a feeling he would not be able to focus afterwards and it is a luxury he cannot really afford.

God, has it really been such a long time since he’s had anyone in his bed?

The tailcoat’s lapels don’t really do the right accent Damen wants, so he uses a few pins and makes a few new marks with chalk to highlight the changes.

“Do you have any siblings, Mr Akielos?” Laurent suddenly asks.

Damen shrugs. “I do have a brother and sister-in-law. Or I had them, once.”

“Have they passed away?”

“No. I got disowned.”

“Oh. My… congratulations?”

“Thank you!”

Laurent is silent and Damen can feel Lauren’t gaze digging holes in his head. “Look, not all family is good. I’m better off on my own,” he finally says then frowns. “I don’t know why am I even bothering with explaining this to a customer.”

“You don’t have to explain, I understand how you feel.”

“Oh, you also have shitty siblings?”

“My uncle, actually. My brother was a good man, however.”

“Was?”

“Nicaise is my adoptive brother. I had an older brother, Auguste. He passed away when I was thirteen.”

“Oh, I see.”

Damen makes a mistake of meeting Laurent’s gaze. Never before has he considered that the pale iciness of his eyes can melt and grow warm but it certainly does at this moment, in whatever thoughts Laurent loses himself in.

“You miss him.”

“Yes. No. It’s none of your business.”

“You’re the one who brought up the siblings talk, my  _ lord _ ,” Damen says smugly at Laurent’s annoyed expression.

“Just do your job.”

“I need you to stop squirming to do that or I might stab you in the neck.”

“Whatever.”

He does that. Laurent hisses at the lightest prickle of skin. 

“I warned you.”

* * *

The next day, Damen wakes up incredibly tired after working well past midnight on Laurent’s suit. It doesn’t help that after the man left yesterday, Erasmus reported the growing concern of Damen’s usual customers at the delays in orders. 

It’s just one more week to go. Even less than that. Just have to survive on sleeping less than five hours a day.

Damen tumbles from his bed and to his small kitchen, trying to find anything that can be consumed for breakfast but then realises all his purveyance has been depleted in the past week. With a sad little sigh and an attempt at shaving and making himself look presentable, Damen puts on his favourite coat and decides to procure some fresh bread as a start.

It’s a walk just down the street and Damen’s mouth waters the moment he senses the sweet, homey scent of freshly-baked bread and pastries. He almost cries at the hint of cinnamon in the air and his pace quickens as he makes his way to the bakery. With a grin on his face and with a broad movement of his hand, he swings the bakery’s door open and—

Freezes in his tracks at the sight of all too familiar head of gold.

The Lord of Vere looks surprised and stunning in his pale green tailcoat, expensive material hugging his form in nowhere a perfect way but it must be a natural talent of Laurent’s to look stunning even in a badly-fitted coat.

The baker, short and stout, grins and waves at Damen in greetings. “Mr Akielos, come on in! Just got a fresh batch of bread out, still hot from the oven!”

Damen smiles politely and answers the greetings. He can only nod to Laurent, who thankfully keeps his distance and sharp tongue in check today. Damen buys a few loaves, content to keep his purchase simple, though the pastries on the display make his mouth water some more and his belly growls, loud enough for Laurent to notice.

“May I have one of each?” Laurent asks the baker. It’s a regular phrase, nothing so special about it, but it is the tone, soft and polite and kind, coming from Laurent whom Damen knows to be a nasty piece of work sometimes, is what makes him gape. 

It only gets worse when Laurent presents the box filled with pastries to Damen.

“???”

“This is for you.”

“???”, but harder.

Lord Laurent of Vere blushes. “You look like you haven’t eaten anything in a while. Please, take them.”

The baker eyes them with interest. There are other customers in the bakery waiting in line so Laurent unceremoniously hooks his hand below Damen’s elbow and stirs him towards the exit, the box under his other hand. Damen, rather dumbfounded, follows him without much thought. Outside, he doesn’t know what to do with himself. Passersby keep throwing curious glances at the richly-dressed young lord and the much less rich, much less lord tailor everyone knows on this street.

Damen just clutches his bread closer to his chest and shakes his head vigorously.

“Why have you bought me pastries?”

Laurent actually taps his foot, impatient. “Because you look like shit. Eat something sweet.”

Damen pouts. Laurent shoves the box into him. “Just making sure you won’t kick the bucket before you finish my commission.”

“Oh, so I’m allowed to die from starvation and exhaustion afterwards?”

“Well…”

“I’ll make sure to come back and haunt your ass, Lord of Vere.”

Laurent, much to Damen’s surprise, laughs, a sweet little sound that warms Damen for the rest of the day, along with the sweetness of pastries he does end up munching on during his breaks.

* * *

It’s during another evening of working on Laurent’s outfit, sewing delicately until fit and form would be perfect, when Damen finds himself thinking of the future wearer of the garment instead of focusing on what his hands are doing.

He doesn’t quite let go of the slowly building trust between them, though there is hardly any reason for it aside from meeting regularly for most of the past ten days and corresponding daily since Laurent demands regular updates on progress. Their letters, however, contain not only the sour business talk. Damen had the mood to leave a remark on recent news and Laurent responded to it in his post scriptum. 

Eventually, progress updates have become little footnotes at the end of their letters, and the biggest chunk of them is now dedicated to discussing literature, news, and philosophy. Damen is pleasantly surprised to find Laurent passionate about many things, his neat and tiny handwriting becoming more fluid and messy when the subject interests him greatly. Damen can easily picture the young man hunched over his desk, writing by candlelight well into the dead of night. (Laurent’s letters always arrive first thing in the morning. Damen’s usually right past supper.)

Even now, Damen wonders over how will Laurent react to the subject of his letter and wonders if those few risque puns might get him in trouble the next time they meet — which, to think, will be tomorrow.

Damen finishes the right sleeve of the tailcoat and smoothes is down almost lovingly, his fingers caressing the material with no small amount of both tenderness and pride. This is going to be his best work as of yet. It’s a shame his apprentice is not allowed to join him in the process of sewing — Laurent will know if somebody else worked on the seams, in whatever almost supernatural way of his. Damen will have to pull Erasmus aside and show him this particular way of sewing he has discovered that makes the process easier and also creates a very beautiful seam, especially on such an expensive material. 

He still can’t quite wrap his mind around the fact that he’s actually doing it. Making a high-class bespoke suit in two weeks. 

His eyes are perpetually sore and red. His hands are needle-pricked and one of his fingers is bandaged since there was an accident with his trusty shears. His back is killing him and all he wants is to curl up under his blankets and sleep for a week straight. 

This is probably a nice thing to do once Laurent pays him the rest of the sum. Take a nice vacation. Lock up the shop and just sleep. Ah, what a dream.

Damen huffs, finally realising that he’s bound to start making mistakes if he continues working tonight. So, after closing up his studio, he climbs the stairs to his apartment and prepares for sleep.

Which, to his overworked mind, doesn’t come even after an hour of twisting and turning in his bed. Laurent’s face and body haunt him and, quite aware of the growing heat between his legs, Damen gives in to the urge. He strokes himself to the thought of Laurent bouncing on his dick, mouth agape and all the filthy curses on his tongue. Or will he be quiet and shy, allowing only a few choked out whimpers before he comes? It’s an entertaining thought and it keeps Damen’s pace quick and punishing until he comes undone with a low, guttural moan of Laurent’s name. 

It doesn’t help the longing, not one bit, but at least now Damen realises how serious things have gone for him. 

* * *

On the next morning, Damen arrives at the Vere residence a little earlier than planned, mostly out of fear it is going to rain and catch him half-way there on horseback with no means to protect himself against the weather. Even now on his way from the stables to the residence’s doors when Damen looks up, the sky is angry with heavy black clouds that promise early summer thunderstorms. With gusts of wind picking up, Damen hurries his pace, banging on the front doors while shivering in his plain summer coat.

Once admitted inside, he is informed that Lord Laurent is currently engaged in a training session with his brother. Damen nods, perfectly aware he has arrived earlier than he has been expected to, though the polite butler who somehow took a liking of Damen leads him all the way into the Lord’s personal wing.

There, in one large but simple room with a few mannequins that Damen figures are supposed to be training dummies — judging by the sheer amount of stab wounds in each — he finds Laurent and his brother Nicaise engaged in a fierce fencing battle. They seem to have been going at it for quite some time, judging by how sweaty and panting both men are. Nicaise looks even worse than the dummy he slips behind, prompting Laurent to hit it with his sword instead of the probably staggering block Nicaise would have had to endure on his own.

They are too engrossed in fencing to notice Damen right away, so he takes his time enjoying the view of Laurent in simple clothing, white linen of his shirt sweat-drenched as he works his way through the training room, fighting with Nicaise in a display of his fine athleticism and precise, almost calculated, attacks. 

Damen is quite enchanted, though the spell breaks quite quickly when Laurent’s cold gaze meets his, his cheeks flushed from the exercise and his lips still curled into a victorious smile after Nicaise’s submission.

“Ah, um— Good day,” Damen mumbles, not sure he himself isn’t blushing right now. “I didn’t mean to intrude.”

“You’re early,” Laurent simply says. As always, no greetings from him, though with the tightness of their schedule and communication it almost seems they rarely part.

Nicaise glances between them, then snickers, then without a word but with a single nod to Damen (wow), excuses himself.

Damen just stares at a drop of sweat dripping from one of Laurent’s golden locks and falling onto the white towel he’s thrown over his shoulders.

“I could wait some more since you clearly need to freshen up.”

“I have a vast library if you wish to read while you wait. I’ll ask one of the servants bring you tea and biscuits, too.”

“T-thank you.”

Damen has to run, haunted by his last night’s fantasies now fueled by Laurent’s post-training ravishing casualness.

It’s only an hour later do they make it to the last fittings session. Laurent admires the seam work though Damen still thinks the sleeves are too long. Then they discuss the importance of properly selected buttons and settle on a set from the small assortment Damen has brought. Laurent is in a benevolent mood today and yet he still teases Damen over how tired he looks. In return, Damen reminds his customer dearest of the inhumane conditions he’s been subjected to because of this commission. Laurent, unbothered, reminisces of the light in Damen’s eyes at the prospect of getting paid.

“Touché,” Damen laughs out, readjusting a few minor details in the tailcoat while Laurent, thankfully exhausted after his training, does not fiddle too much today and Damen can actually focus on his work.

At that time, a bolt of lightning strikes awfully close to the grounds of the Vere mansion, promptly followed by deafening thunder. Damen has to pretend to be unconcerned, though on the inside he is cursing himself for ever venturing out today. Laurent only lazily lifts his arms, allowing Damen to check how well the coat takes the movement, and quietly offers Damen to stay till the weather clears.

The sky breaks with heavy rain and more thunder. Damen, reluctantly, agrees.

Laurent’s house is huge. Probably bigger than Damen’s father’s house and he doesn’t quite know what to do with himself aside from stalk the halls and chat with servants. He doesn’t find himself a place though and keeps returning to the little nook in the library by a fireplace he has found most perfect for himself.

He is mostly moody because he hasn’t brought enough of tools and thread to keep working on Laurent’s suit. Time is of the essence on these final stages and in two days, Damen has to deliver the completed outfit to him.

He remains gloomy throughout the dinner he shares with Laurent and Nicaise, both men doing their best to tease Damen though his answering quips come without the heat behind his words.

Perhaps that is the reason why later in the evening Laurent stalks into the library — or at least Damen humours himself that Laurent is actually here to check up on him.

“You have your own rooms, too, Mr Akielos, or have my servants failed to show you to them?”

Damen lifts his gaze up from the book he’s been reading, something about captive princes and family betrayal, and regards the lord trying his best to refrain from teasing quips.

“I rather like this library for now. I can’t work on your commission — I already did what I could with the tools I have with me but it isn’t much.”

“Perhaps I could ask one of the household members to share with you. What do you need?”

Damen laughs. “Please. A tailor never uses someone else’s tools. It’s blasphemy to use someone else’s shears… No, it has to be my own.”

Laurent rolls his eyes. “Your kind sure is unique. It’s just scissors.”

Damen contemplates throwing a book at his head but then reconsiders. He doesn’t want to end up in trouble with his dear patron, after all. Bad for business.

Laurent looks lazily at Damen, somewhat expectant but Damen sees through him anyway and only shakes his head with a sigh and pointedly returns to his book. The thunderstorm outside is still going strong so there is no hurry for him to be going home, not tonight at the very least.

Laurent gracefully sits down into the second armchair by the fireplace, the tips of his boots nearly touching Damen’s. The Lord of Vere looks good today — frankly, he always does — but there is something closer to Damen’s heart in seeing him in more casual outfits in comparison to the elaborate outdoors clothing Laurent is keen on choosing. Still, Damen knows his way about making those to sit better on the man.

Laurent, aware of Damen’s eyes on him, cocks a fine eyebrow at him.

“Speak your mind, Mr Akielos.”

“I think we’re long past calling each other misters.”

“You sure do not care for formalities, I’ve noticed that.”

Damen allows a smile. “Of course. I haven’t called you a lord in a while. I’m rather proud of that.”

Laurent leans forward in his armchair, amused. “Fine, Damianos—”

“Just Damen.”

“Damen.”

He shivers. He has not expected his name to sound so filthy on Laurent’s tongue.

“Is there something on your mind, Damen?” he repeats, leaning his slender elbows on his knees and looking at Damen rather expectantly.

Damen, to his credit, is aware he is being hunted, though he doesn’t catch himself on time before the words slip off of his tongue.

“Your tailor does a poor job of keeping your clothing fit for you.”

“Oh?”

“I could make this vest and shirt look so much better with just a few tricks.”

Laurent suddenly gets up from his seat and approaches Damen, staring down at him. “Would you do it? Would you fix this?” 

Damen can’t help his gaze falling lower, admiring Laurent so close. It’s getting hot in the room — or it’s just Damen’s blood roaring at the proximity to the man.

“Of course.” 

“Then attend me.”

He obeys, reaching up and tugging gently at the pale grey waistcoat Laurent is wearing, though he stops him there, his grip tight on Damen’s wrist.

“Damen,” he says and thunder cracks outside.

Damen lays his hand flat against Laurent’s chest, feeling that seemingly cold heart beating like mad. He searches Laurent’s face but finds nothing but fascination, pale blue eyes going almost black as the men stare at each other. Experimentally, Damen undoes the first button of Laurent’s waistcoat. Then the second, then the last one. Laurent watches him attentively and doesn’t fret when Damen practically manhandles him to stand between his legs. 

Laurent is so impossibly slim and slender, especially in comparison to much bulkier Damen, though now he knows the strength this body is capable of. Still, he treats him gently, almost tenderly, ignoring his own frantic heartbeat as he loosens Laurent’s neckcloth and lets it fall onto the floor. Laurent begins to undo his shirt and now Damen has no doubts about where this is going. At some point, Laurent bends forward, kissing Damen in a heated press of beautiful, plump lips to his own.

With Laurent’s form in his lap, Damen finds himself almost drunk on happiness. There is something different about Laurent, about the way he holds himself. None of Damen’s previous partners, men and women, had this much mystery to them, but… That wall of ice falls and admits Damen in, and this eager mouth sets him aflame.

Damen isn’t sure how they make it to a bedroom. Judging by how well-lived it is, it must be Laurent’s and not his own guest room, but even these thoughts quickly get overwhelmed when Laurent finally moans under Damen’s touch, falling apart in his hands as they move together, bodies seeking completion while their hands are still frantic in gripping each other tight.

It’s… good. It feels so damn good to have Laurent like this, Damen himself turns into a moaning slut. Still, he takes his time to make it good for Laurent, pampering his hole with fond licks and soothing it with his oiled fingers until the man is ready to take his girth. Laurent watches Damen through it all with wide eyes, looking so much younger than he actually is. Still, trust is there between them, and when Damen finally slips inside, Laurent holds him with everything he has. 

It almost seems like Damen has finally found his home, in a man with golden locks and steel eyes, but fucking him sure feels like the best thing in Damen’s life.

He isn’t sure that he keeps his mouth in check, with all the blabbering and praises he rains onto Laurent — who takes it with smiles hidden in-between his moans of pleasure, Damen’s hand on his fine dick as he works Laurent up even more — but still there is a moment when Damen’s mind blacks out briefly, when Laurent clenches around his length and comes hard, shaking, staring back at Damen with an odd look in his eyes.

Damen follows shortly after, shaking, too, raining kisses down the column of Laurent’s fine throat and his chest, sucking onto a sweetly pink nipple until the younger man arches into it, whimpering pathetically.

They fall asleep with Laurent unusually quiet, fitted seamlessly into Damen’s body, his head resting on his chest. 

* * *

Next morning, Damen wakes alone. He expected that but he can’t help that little drop of bitterness stain his mood. During breakfast, Laurent does not acknowledge what happened between them, though Nicaise keeps bothering both of them with remarks over their suddenly strange behaviour until at some point even Laurent snaps back.

Damen returns to his shop and finishes his work on the commission as he planned, though his thoughts keep returning to Laurent. Their correspondence interrupts, or rather, dwindles in comparison to much lengthier letters they used to write. Now, Damen only receives a curt note with date and time when Laurent will come to his shop. He both awaits it and dreads it. These past two weeks have been hectic, true, but no matter how hard Damen tries, he simply cannot forget the way how Laurent looked with his hair spread over the pillows and panting Damen’s name. 

On the day of the commission’s delivery, Damen can’t help to be nervous. Erasmus looks at him with concern but there’s nothing Damen can change — nor can he deny the effect Laurent has over him when he enters the shop. The whole world stops as they stare at each other, and it’s only Erasmus’ invite into the fitting room that gets Laurent moving.

There, once the waistcoat is sitting firmly on Laurent’s form and Damen helps him with the tailcoat, does Damen realise the depth of his feelings for his heart swells at the sight of Laurent in his outfit, as beautiful as a groom. Damen forgets about the invisible wall that has grown between them since the night there were no barriers between them at all, and calls him stunning.

Laurent’s eyes, round and surprised, meet his gaze and then he looks away, a blush rising in his cheeks.

* * *

The two weeks left before Erasmus’ wedding are spent in quick preparations and attempts to fix up the mess that is Damen’s workshop, though he is more than glad to see his patrons so forgiving of delays. It takes him a while to realise that it must be because of gossip going about that Damen has been hired to do the most stunning bespoke suit of the decade. Damen just shies away from these talks and focuses on helping his apprentice.

On the day of the wedding, summer is in full bloom. It’s a bit hot but everyone welcomes the sunlight. Erasmus and Torveld are radiant, if a little nervous, waiting for the start of the ceremony. Damen dashes between them, grinning, watching guests arrive. It’s only almost at the beginning of the ceremony does he run into Laurent, wearing the outfit Damen sewed for him. Slender, stunning, his hair a halo of gold on his head. 

Slowly, Damen realises just whose wedding Laurent was talking about.

Damen doesn’t get to speak to him until Erasmus and Torveld are finally wed though the celebrations spin and turn and sparkle, air filled with laughter and good wishes until at some point Laurent approaches the little group Damen and the new husbands are part of and offers his congratulations. They still don’t get to talk, but now Damen sees Torveld and Laurent chatting animatedly and sees that friendship is strong. Erasmus gives Damen an amused look — utterly nasty by his standards — and Damen can only roll his eyes in answer.

Later, when they have left the church’s grounds and made a short walk to the park where a few small tables with snacks and music have been set up (Damen’s idea), does he get dragged by Erasmus forward to a circle of guests with some great interest gathered around Laurent. 

“But look at this fabric—”

“And the craftsmanship, it’s truly outstanding!”

Laurent visibly cringes as he tries to get away from the wedding guests but it only gets worse when with no small amount of pride Erasmus presents the one who tailored said garments.

It takes some teamwork to find a way out of their shared predicament which only leads Laurent and Damen away from the main bulk of celebrations and closer towards the small lake on the park’s grounds. It’s quiet here and the setting sun bathes everything in gold. 

Damen’s eyes are on Laurent and once again he’s weak, stunned into dumbfoundedness by the sharp beauty of the man, somehow highlighted by his own craft. 

Soft summer wind ruffles Laurent’s locks and Damen doesn’t really think when he reaches his hand to smooth away a strand that has been tickling Laurent’s cheek.

“It’s something—” Laurent begins then stops, biting down on his lip. He’s almost as vulnerable as he was on the night of the storm, though Damen isn’t sure what did he do to deserve to witness, to deserve Laurent so trusting.

“I miss you,” Damen says simply. 

Laurent turns to face him fully and it’s enough for Damen to tip his chin up and kiss him, as sweetly and tenderly as he ever kissed, his tongue smoothing down Laurent’s full bottom lip until he lets him in. Laurent doesn’t shy away from melting into Damen, pulling him down by the lapels of Damen’s tailcoat as they kiss and kiss and kiss. 

Damen encircles him in his arms, shielding, but Laurent laughs in his mouth, pulling away only to remark, “You’re going to wrinkle the best bespoke suit of the decade.”

“I can tailor a hundred more for you, Laurent.” He grins at the blond man, fingers playing with golden locks. “But I rather like seeing you without any, too.”

Laurent laughs, the sound warm and sweet, and pulls Damen in for another kiss.


End file.
